


Juvenile Boys With Knives For Toys

by maxvandenburgs



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/F, Feudalism, Forbidden Love, Gangs, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Love/Hate, M/M, New York City, Violence, West Side Story AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 15:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16370528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxvandenburgs/pseuds/maxvandenburgs
Summary: The Cubs and The Jacks are the two most notorious gangs in New York City.Pete, gang leader and heart stealer, is searching for a purpose. A high-school dropout, orphaned, he has his boys but not much else: until one fateful night, his path is crossed with someone whose path is completely and utterly not his to take, and nothing is ever the same again.Brendon has never believed he'll amount to much. He's alive, he knows that much, but he's never really lived. When he speaks with the leader of the gang whom he should despise, away from the pack, without the rush of fight-fuelled adrenaline flooding through his veins, he learns that he's falling for the very boy who he should hate more than anything. But of course, life has a funny way of working out, and not always the way we want - or need - it to.Based off of Romeo & Juliet and West Side Story. Two gangs. Many romances that are doomed from the start. I think you and I know both know where this is going.





	Juvenile Boys With Knives For Toys

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello!
> 
> So, um... this idea kinda came to me the other day and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since, so I just had to start writing it. I promise you that this doesn't mean I'm abandoning my other fic that is currently in working progress. I'm gonna juggle the both of them - somehow!
> 
> As you can tell from the tags and the summary, this is both a Fall Out Boy AND Panic! At The Disco fic. Look at me being all generous and giving you two fandoms in one. 
> 
> I really hope you guys will give it a chance. It's inter-band ships rather than Original Characters, which is something that I've never done before and frankly, have been too scared to try, so I hope you'll like it. I think it's going to be really fucking good, if I'm allowed to say that without sounding like an asshole. 
> 
> Please leave Kudos and comments and all that good stuff. It's always very conducive to me to know what you do and don't like - or if you have any suggestions - so I can try my best to incorporate or change them further on down the line. 
> 
> Thank you once again. Trust me, okay? This one's going to be good.
> 
> All my love,   
> Olivia

Nothing made Pete feel more alive than getting punched in the face. Really. There was something so grounding about skin hitting skin, and the rush of air that always accompanied the blow. He staggered backward, almost losing his footing but recovering it at the last second. Once the harsh white light had faded from his vision, he turned his head to the side and spit blood. 

Then, with a wry smirk spreading across his beaten face, he opened his mouth to speak.

“That the best you’ve got?” 

The look that consumed Dallon’s features was one that could only be described as ‘don’t fucking test me, Wentz.’ Pete had grown very familiar with it. It was probably the face that Dallon pulled most often when he was in his company - a combination of warning, exasperation and perhaps a little bit of respect. When it came to cockiness, he and Pete had always gone toe-to-toe. Dallon may have despised the man, but he couldn’t deny that he was one of the most self-assured assholes that he’d ever come across. It was one of the only things that they had in common.

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” spat out the taller man, words laced with venom. His statement sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through Pete’s veins. Boldly, he stepped forward and he shoved Dallon across the chest  _ hard _ . From there on out, it was all just a nasty concoction of knuckles, blood and skin. 

Pete had lost count of the amount of times the two of them had brawled like this - and often, for the pettiest of reasons, but that was all it took, really. It could be something as small as Dallon looking at him in the wrong way, or even just looking at him at all. To his knowledge, he’d broken at least five of Dallon’s bones. It was a gruesome sort of achievement, one that he was incredibly proud of - and he wore it like armour. 

The only way these fights ever stopped was when somebody stepped in to pull them apart. Whether that was the police or their own kin was dependant on the day, and whenever Pete felt two strong hands upon his shoulders, tearing him from the action, he always silently prayed he’d turn around to see Brendon or Joe, and not some seething cop, tired of the countless frays between Cubs and Jacks into which he had to intervene. 

Sadly, today was not Pete’s day. 

“Break it up!” an unfamiliar voice commanded him as he was tugged roughly by his t-shirt’s collar away from his opponent. “That’s enough! I said - that’s  _ enough _ !”

Caught up in the moment, breaking away was always the hardest. By this point, Pete wanted Dallon dead. He wanted to beat him until he was nothing more than a bloody pulp. For what reason, he never knew. All he could think about was how that bastard needed at least one more right-hook to the jaw before Pete could ever be satisfied with the damage he had done. 

Heaving for breath, vision skewed by swelling, blood trickling from his face onto the pavement, Pete stared Dallon down, gaze burning into the eyes of his enemy. Their communication was unspoken, but clear as day. This wasn’t over. This was never over. 

“How many fucking times?” another voice - another cop - asked of the brawlers. This one was all too familiar. With the undeniable look of youthful rebellion, Pete glared at him. He was almost as sick of seeing Chief Hall's face as he was of seeing Dallon fucking Weekes’. 

“Until he’s dead,” Dallon answered, and that was all it took for Pete to snap again. He launched himself for the other man, but was stopped by the law before he could do anything. Perhaps that was a good thing. If it was the rest of the Jacks here instead, they’d let him ruin him. Hell, they’d probably join in too - and who would Dallon have to back him up then? The rest of the Cubs?  _ Oh please,  _ Pete thought to himself.  _ Don’t make me laugh. _

“I swear to God, boys, I can’t keep doing this,” Chief Hall sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in complete and utter despair. “I’m not giving you any more fucking warnings. Thrice you’ve disturbed the peace of this city in this month alone. No more good cop. You either check yourselves or you’re all getting called in. All of you. I don’t care who’s involved and who’s not.”

“All of us?” Pete smirked smugly, and it was apparent that a flippant remark was following. “Hell, sounds like fun. We could have a slumber party or something.” Yup. There it was. That was Pete all over. 

“I’m serious, Wentz,” the Chief replied, stony-faced. “One more strike and you’re all doing time. For God’s sake, boys. What do you have to gain from this? Do you even know what you’re fighting over anymore?”

“Yeah,” Dallon said. “New York fucking City.”

“Go home,” they were told. “No, in fact, we’ll _ take  _ you home, like you’re fucking children - seeing as you can’t be trusted.”

“Oh fantastic,” Pete quipped. “At least I won’t have to pay for an Uber now.”

He studied Chief Hall’s expression and wasn’t surprised when he was met with no response. He couldn’t even afford an Uber anyway. 

Police escorts back home were something that Pete had grown used to by now. Similarly, it was never jarring for his boys to look out of the window and see the car pulling up outside. 

“Remember what I said, kid,” the Chief said just before Pete got out. “Once more. I’m serious this time.”

“You always say that,” Pete remarked bravely, and then let himself out. Sarcastically, he waved to the car as it drove away. 

“Bastards,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Hey! Wentz!” a holler came from above him. Turning, Pete looked up and saw Brendon and Joe practically hanging out of the first-storey window. 

“Jesus Christ, Pete, you look like you should be dead,” Joe shouted down. 

“You should see Weekes,” he replied, and he went inside to join them. 

Easing himself down gently onto his bed, Pete winced in pain, which was finally starting to kick in now. His body throbbed all over.  _ Fucking Cubs, _ he thought to himself. 

Thankfully, however, these boys were used to this. It was the way they lived, and Brendon had already gone to grab what pitiful first aid supplies they had in their bathroom. He and Joe cleaned up Pete’s wounds with a damp rag and half a bottle of vodka. In between, Pete would snatch it and take a swig to help him cope with the pain. 

“Fucking shit,” he got out through gritted teeth. 

“Stop being such a baby,” Brendon teased, shoving the man’s arm.

They didn’t have any bandages, so tore up an old t-shirt of Joe’s that he never wore any more to wrap around the worst of Pete’s cuts. Closing his eyes, the combination of painkillers and vodka starting to make him drowsy, Brendon shoved his body closer to the wall so there was room for him to lie beside him, and Joe sat upon the end of the bed and lifted Pete’s legs, letting them drape over his lap. 

Casually, the door swung open, and all three men looked up to address the enterer - even though they all knew who it was. 

With wide eyes, Mike rushed to the bed. “Yo! Pete. Man, what happened?”

“He’s fine, Mikey Mike,” Brendon sighed, laughing lightly. 

“I’m fine, Mikey Mike,” Pete echoed with the faintest of smiles.

“I’ve told you so many times not to call me that,” Mike replied with a roll of his eyes. “Seriously though. What happened? Which one of ‘em was it?”

Pete laughed even though it hurt. “Which one of them? You think Baby Jake or Nicole coulda done this to me?”

“So it was Dallon,” Mike says, feeling like a bit of an idiot. 

“Yeah. It was Dallon.”

“Fucking Dallon  _ Weekes _ !” Joe shouted, and everybody laughed.

“You’re gonna be okay though, aren’t you, man?” Mike asked with concern, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No, he’s only got minutes to live,” Brendon said, deadbeat, and when Pete caught the expression that spread across Mike’s face, he shoved Brendon hard. 

“I’ll be fine,” Pete insisted. “Go on. Run along, little one.”

Mike laughed and shook his head. “Fuck you guys,” he muttered. “I could take on all of you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Pete said, and he watched on as Mike left.  _ Damn, that kid is too special,  _ he thought.  _ The Cubs can fuck me over as much as they want, but if they so much as lay a hand on him... _

“So what was it?” Brendon asked softly, once Mike was gone. 

“What was what?”

“What started the fight, asshole?” he laughed, looking across to the boy he had been calling his brother for as long as he could remember.

“I can’t even remember,” Pete lied. Sometimes that was what you had to do for your boys. You had to lie to protect them.

“Knowing Dallon, it was probably something fucking stupid,” Joe chimed in. “God, I’d loved to wipe the smug fucking grin off of that prick’s face.”

“Already did,” Pete sighed. He was so fucking tired. 

They all just sat there in amicable silence for a little while,  the heaviness of their thoughts weighing them down. They were the three sons of men who were now all either jailed or dead. None of them had seen their mothers since they were infants. From about the age of four up until her passing a few weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Pete had been living with his grandmother. She had been the best thing in his life without a shadow of a doubt. She reminded him of everything good in the world. She’d kept him alive - and not just with food or shelter, but with the way that she treated him like a human fucking being. He knew that without her, he wouldn’t be lying here right now, with Brendon one side of him, and Joe at his feet. 

He’d met Brendon first, at school, when he was ten. Brendon was two years his junior, but that hadn’t mattered - it was their experiences that connected them. Like Pete, Brendon was caught somewhere in between. He was alive but not really living: a sad existence for an eight-year-old. He’d been in and out of the foster system since he was a baby, bouncing around from couple to couple, so excited at the prospect of having this sweet boy joining their family. That was until they were collecting him from the Principal’s office, or bandaging up his scrapes from fights with the older boys at school. Nobody kept him for too long. They’d always phrase it the same, too. 

“He’s lovely,” they’d tell the social worker with strained voices, as Brendon slumped down in the back seat of the car, his meagre collection of belongings all stuffed into a pillowcase, “he’s just not for us.” 

He never really found permanence, but he found Pete Wentz - and that was the next best thing. He remained in care up until he was eighteen, technically, although more often than not, he spent nights at Pete’s house - his best and only friend. His network of social workers were fine with it, and looking back, Brendon was so grateful for that, because if they’d stopped him from spending as much time as he did with Pete, he didn’t know what he would have done. Like Pete had his grandmother, Brendon had Pete. He was the one person that Brendon could count on no matter what. In everything but blood, they were brothers, and had each other’s backs through thick and thin. 

Joe joined the fold last of all. He moved from across the state and started at the same high school as Pete and Brendon for Junior Year, nestled in neatly between Pete, a Senior, and Brendon, who had just started as a Sophomore. Naturally, being the new kid, Joe was of interest. New kids were usually interesting, in some way or another, and sure enough, Joe proved himself to be funny, kind and loyal. None of them really remember how or when he fell into the group. One day, it just happened - and then two became three. 

Neither Pete nor Brendon finished high school. Pete was trying to - he really was - but Senior Year was a struggle, especially after having lost his grandmother earlier that Summer. To hold down the rent of the house, he was working three jobs, and school just really wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He owed everything to Brendon and Joe - for just  _ being  _ there, when he felt like ending it all. Sometimes they didn’t even have to say anything. They just had to sit there with him, until the wave of his bad feelings washed over him, and he didn’t feel so angry and hurt and lost anymore. 

Brendon, on the other hand, had never cared about school, and had no intentions of ever finishing. He knew how to read and write and to him, that was all he needed. He would never be good enough to make anything of himself anyway, so why try? He dropped out midway through Junior Year, and just worked, to help support Pete, whose house he lived in more often than he did at the care home. Joe was the only one of the three to complete school, graduating with fairly decent grades. It was no secret that Joe was the prime example of a bright boy mixing with the wrong crowds, but he didn’t care. No matter how many times his parents tried to gently talk him out of spending so much time with “those kinds of boys”, he didn’t give a shit. Pete and Brendon were his  _ family _ . They were there for him when nobody else was. His future could get fucked, for all he cared. College had never even been on his radar, because he’d be damned if he went anywhere that Brendon and Pete couldn’t follow. 

So after school was done for Joe, and once Brendon turned eighteen and was free to do whatever he pleased, all three boys lived together in what used to be Pete’s grandmother’s home. Realistically, Pete couldn’t ever see himself moving. This house was his safest place. It was where all of his memories were. It was where his boys were.

For the longest time, it was just the three of them - and that suited them just fine. Further along down the line, once the gang was an established thing, others joined. It became like, an actual tangible thing, rather than just a group of friends. It became a brotherhood. It became a cult. It became the closest thing to heaven that Pete was sure he would ever get. 

But of course, the Jacks weren’t just born out of nowhere, and neither was their bitter feud with the group that would become known as the Cubs. There had been underlying tension between Pete and Dallon since the start of high school, but it never went further than the occasional half-assed tussle in the bathrooms. However, over time, unofficial groups seemed to take their shape. There was Pete, Brendon and Joe, obviously, and then Dallon and his two minions, Andy and Patrick, the latter of whom, to this day, Pete had never met. Sometimes, he was convinced that he didn’t even exist, that he was a projection of Dallon’s pathetic imagination to make him seem like he had more friends than he actually did. But nonetheless, each side grew. It became something to aspire to, to be involved with these boys who seemed to detest one another. Neither one of them never really knew what they were fighting for - or against - all they knew was that it was fun to hate someone. It was satisfying to invest that energy into despising other people for the sheer hell of it. It made no sense - of course it didn’t - but that didn’t stop the fighting. It was a territorial, testosterone-fuelled high school _nightmare_.

However, every story has its climax. Its plot twist. And the day when Pete decided that enough was enough - and that this was now  _ war _ \- that was the day that everything changed. And since then, life had never really been the same. 


End file.
